


something won't always be missing (you won't always feel emptier)

by hollow_city



Series: broken hearts & twisted minds [13]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 09:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11620314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollow_city/pseuds/hollow_city
Summary: he sat down next to him on the couch. it was time to start telling the truth. but he couldn't just dive into the heart of the matter, so he started with the little things.[in which jason and bruce decide it's time for the truth, but things don't necessarily get better.]





	something won't always be missing (you won't always feel emptier)

**Author's Note:**

> so today trump announced something via twitter and i have been burning with fury ever since, but i wrote this anyway. i just don't understand how something like this can happen with no consequence. (if you agree with the ruling, don't tell me. i don't want to know.)  
> on a happier note, title is from future by paramore

_**He sat down next to him on the couch. It was time to start telling the truth. But he couldn't just dive into the heart of the matter, so he started with the little things. He told him**_ about how it started.

He told him what it was like to wake up with walls on all sides that were far too close. What it was like when he began to panic, with his heart in his throat and his brain left in the place that put him there. What it was like to tear his fingers to shreds and lodging every splinter possible in every inch of his fingers but not  _caring_ because busted fingers were better than empty lungs. What it was like pulling the incredibly expensive shirt he'd been buried in over his face so the dirt wouldn't suffocate him. What it felt like gasping in the air that felt like swallowing nail because of the screaming he hadn't realized he'd been doing, but continuing anyway because this was ten seconds after he'd been convinced he'd never breathe again. 

He asked him to stop, and he did. He watched as he stared at a blank spot on the wall and swallowed hard a few times. He nodded for him to continue, and he did. 

He told him what it was like ending up somewhere and having no idea how he even got there because even keeping himself standing was a challenge. What it was like losing the entire chunk of time between reaching the surface and emptying his stomach of Lazarus Pit waters. What it was like to feel more put together than he ever had been, yet feeling nothing like he thought he should. What it was like to suddenly have a dead body at his feet, but only remembering the light disappear from their eyes, and not what made him do it. 

He told him what it felt like wanting the one person who still cared about him to come back, only to find that that person no longer cared about him. What it felt like being replaced, and knowing that now he couldn't go back because he'd been replaced by a newer, better model. What it felt like allowing himself to be molded into a weapon and then being set loose like a ticking time bomb, because there was nothing to stop him. No one to stop him. 

He asked him to stop again, and he did, because he was now having trouble getting the words out.

And when he nodded for him to continue once more, he took a few more moments trying to remember exactly what made him think that this was a good idea.

( _"No. No, I am not letting you die. Not again. Never again.")_

He fingered the bandages poking out of the collar of his shirt and continued.

He told him what that brief moment of hesitation felt like when he got back to Gotham. A brief moment in which he considered whether or not he wanted to do what he was about to do. But then the deep, burning rage left behind by the pit (or had it always been there?) surged forth once again and he said, _no, there was nothing else he would rather be doing,_ because what did he have left to lose?

He told him what it felt like being hunted and hated by the people who once said they loved him. What it felt like when he would stare at himself in the dirty mirror and wonder if this was really how he wanted it to go, but then finding himself with bloody knuckles and a broken mirror because even if it wasn't, he would just have to suck it up, because that was how it went and it was too late now.

He asked him to stop, and this time, his voice cracked. They sat in silence for a long time, the only sound in the room the mood appropriate rain and thunder outside. After several long minutes, he asked him to finish.

He smiled wryly, because he thought he already knew this part, but the smile fell and he told him anyway.

He told him what it was like having the man he once nearly considered a father tell him that he was no longer welcome, but then issue an official pardon, because he didn't want to deal with the burden of him dying again, at the hands of some other angry superhero.

He looked like he wanted to interrupt and argue that that was  _not_ what happened, but he didn't, because then they wouldn't get anywhere. 

He continued to tell him how it felt being so alone all the time because he'd gone and destroyed everything he might've had left. How it felt waking up in hte morning and questioning whether or not he should even get up, because he had no one waiting for him. No one expecting anything of him.

How it felt to have nothing left, and wishing he could make everyone he'd lost understand that if he was in the state of mind that he was now back then, this might not have happened. 

How it felt thinking he was going to die again, but then having the one man he disappointed the most show up, and not knowing  _what_ to feel.

How it felt waking up in the Cave and  _not_ being restrained or attacked or yelled at.

And the story was done. He now knew everything, and maybe that wasn't for the better. But it was too late to change that, too. 

And now, he didn't know how to feel, either, or if he even felt anything at all, so he stood, and he left him sitting alone on the couch, staring at that blank space on the wall. 


End file.
